


From Duty to Dust

by TheFeistyRogue



Series: Critical Role Fics [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, POV Caleb Widogast, Powerful Caleb, Season 2 Episode 26 Spoilers, Self-Loathing Caleb Widogast, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-19 06:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFeistyRogue/pseuds/TheFeistyRogue
Summary: In which Caleb is the Archmage General of the Zemnian Royal Army and he ends up joining the Mighty Nein anyway, even if he has to hide his powers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that going into this, Caleb is already a level 20 (or whatever) wizard. The rest of the Nein are their usual selves, I just wanted to write OP-Caleb. Because of this... certain EVENTS (ahem The Episode That Shall Not Be Named) will be changed.
> 
> Also, in the history of Wildemount, the Menagerie Coast invaded the Empire but did not succeed in gaining much ground.
> 
> I haven't watched any further than episode 32 of the current campaign, so no spoilers beyond that in the comments, please!

Caleb watched in silence as blazing orbs of fire fell from the night sky like stars falling from the heavens. It had taken him but a mere heartbeat to reach deep within himself and call forth the arcane words to cast Meteor Storm. Fireballs scorched the earth and decimated the bandit camp that had been pillaging villages on the border of the Cyrios Mountains. The howls of the dying echoed on the wind. It had been as easy as breathing, to murder hundreds of men.

Caleb was the Archmage General of the Zemnian Royal Army, under the purview of the Dwendalian Empire. Murder was his job, no matter that it left him tasting ash in his mouth and with the leaded weight of guilt in his gut.

In the valley below, something exploded with enough force to shake the earth. It was likely the witch’s tent, full of dangerous and toxic spell ingredients. The screams of those not immediately slaughtered were beginning to fade, drowned out by the crackle of fire as it caught the wooden buildings and canvas tents and flamed hot enough to be felt even from where Caleb was positioned: half a mile away and on a rocky ledge overlooking the carnage. His mount, a chestnut destrier named Hawthorne, shuffled, but did not shy. Hawthorne was used to the havoc Caleb brought with him wherever he might go.

Next to him, Lieutenant Pike, second in the line of command, cleared his throat.

“Yes,” Caleb said. He did not look away. He had wrought this damage and he would stand witness to it.

“I doubt a single soul survived,” Pike said. His voice was quiet. Awed. “Shall we return and inform the King of our victory?”

It would be easy to turn his back now. If they did, he could pretend that some of the bandits still lived and would flee this place, never to return. He could pretend that he had not just committed a massacre worthy of the title bestowed upon him by his enemies: the Firestorm. He could pretend that he was just a man, not a monster of hellish nightmare.

Caleb would not pretend. He did his duty.

“No. The men have this camp surrounded. Ensure that no one escapes. Pass on the message to kill those who resist and capture any that plead mercy.”

“Sir… killing them may very well be a mercy.”

“If that is the case, do so.”

Down in the valley, the fire lashed out, greedy for fuel. Hawthorne whickered, nervous. Caleb dipped into his components pouch and withdrew a piece of quartz. Whispers began as he prepared another spell.

_ “Again?” _

_ “Surely not!” _

_ “How does he have the power?” _

Ignoring his soldiers, he took a breath and blew on the quartz. An icy wind trickled forth and the quartz shattered, spraying toward the fire. Ten-by-ten foot panels of ice formed a barrier thirty foot high that protected the most vulnerable edge of the forest from burning. It would not do to roast his men alive as well as his enemies, nor cause a forest fire that would consume the surrounding villages.

As the flames raged and his troops ensured not a single bandit escaped, Caleb turned his heart to stone and forced himself to watch the horror, lest he forget his own monstrosity. For the King. For the Zemni Fields. For the Empire. 

It was his duty.

* * *

“Perhaps we cannot take him by force, but there is nothing stopping us from slipping a dagger between his ribs as he sleeps.”

Caleb blinked, pausing in the halls of Berlant Castle outside a door that had been foolishly left open. The voice had been Van’s, one of the King’s closest advisors, a man not often prone to making mistakes. Caleb leaned against the stone wall and called forth Frumpkin, sending him sneaking into the room, nosy enough to wonder who’s murder they were discussing. Surely the Xhorhasians could not be causing more trouble?

“As he sleeps? Are you simple-minded? Just because we do not know what protections he uses to keep himself safe does not mean he doesn’t have them. He is the most powerful wizard in the Zemni Fields, perhaps in the Empire,” another man answered. “I doubt I could combat his magic without the help of another mage equally as strong as me.”

Seeing through Frumpkin’s eyes was always a revelation of sight: more precise at a distance and unfocused up close. For this reason, it took Caleb a moment to realise that they were discussing _ him _. His murder. There was no wizard more powerful than he, none who had studied as hard or had fought as bitterly to survive. He encouraged Frumpkin to skirt the walls so that he could see the room better, dipping behind a tapestry to hide. Caleb’s heart pounded, even as he was unable to believe his luck. Had they not thought to enclose themselves in silence? It was of no matter. He would uncover this conspiracy and bring it to the King himself.

The man that had answered was Zander, a fellow spellcaster and someone that Caleb had considered a friend. Next to him was Talia, the Queen, and Amir, the royal assassin, a man only a very select few even knew existed. They were seated around a table, scrolls and parchment strewn across the wood.

“What about a trap?” Talia asked.

Van scoffed. “Like the trap Xhorhas set for him? Not a single man that opposed him was left standing. He’s the Archmage General, the Firestorm—he eats traps for breakfast.”

Something rotten curled in Caleb’s stomach. This was no accidental meeting of folk who disliked him. This was an organised betrayal. Talia’s presence suggested that the King might already know about it. Perhaps he even condoned it. His fellow countrymen were plotting to kill him. After all the wars he’d won them, after all the men he’d killed, after all the sacrifices he made…

He’d killed so many people for his King. Now it felt as if it had all been for nothing.

Frumpkin mewled, echoing his pain. Amir sprung to his feet, his dark, beady gaze fixed on Frumpkin’s position.

“Shit!”

“What?”

“That’s his cat! Fuck. He’s caught us!”

Caleb’s eyes snapped open as he realised that Frumpkin had been found—his own stupid fault. He began the incantation for Teleport and as the spell powered, saw the flash of Amir’s poisoned dagger spinning toward him. Before the dagger could land, Caleb teleported onto the circle of sigils on the doorstep of his house. He snapped his fingers and Frumpkin appeared out of thin air, curling up to settle like a scarf on his shoulders, a cold comfort after this discovery.

He had no time to wallow in pity, however. In the entrance to his house was a pack he always kept there, a magically expanded go-bag to ensure that if he were ever called to battle he would be ready immediately. He snatched up the pack and cast Teleport again, sending himself to a place he knew intimately: Kimbuckle, a small town on the outskirts of Nicodranas, where he’d spent two months learning how to control the weather from an elderly Druid.

He arrived in a clearing just outside the town and collapsed into a heap in the dirt, his hands trembling, his legs unable to support him. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the blue sky, listening to the wind rustle through the tree. It was tranquil compared to the bustling of the castle or the clamour of a battle. Too quiet. All he could hear were his own thoughts. He had been betrayed. Betrayed by those he trusted the most. What had he done to deserve that? Or was this his comeuppance for all those who he’d killed himself?

In a rage, he tore at his uniform, ripping the robe that denoted him Archmage to shreds, Frumpkin aiding in its demise. 

“Why?” he cried, but the forest didn’t answer.

_ Meow. _

Caleb peered down at Frumpkin and sank to his knees. He buried his face in Frumpkin’s soft, warm fur and cried until he could cry no more. Frumpkin had been his first friend, and as it turned out, his only true friend.

“Life is not fair, my dear,” he said. “You and I know that well, do we not?”

Shrugging the scraps of his robe from his shoulders, Caleb dragged himself to his feet, shouldering his bag. He glanced at the sun and began to walk North. Even if he was still being hunted, no one would think to look for him here. He would head back into the Empire, disguised and discreet, and find a way to live without the guidance of his duty to the King.

“I am no longer Caleb Ermendrud, but Caleb Widogast,” he announced, determined to put his past behind him. “The stranger in the woods.” 

Frumpkin purred with approval and licked his cheek.

* * *

In the dark, dank cells of Stuugant Prison, Caleb bit back a groan. He was skinny, filthy, and plagued by nightmares. It hadn’t been difficult for the Zemnian guards to capture him when he’d been weak with fever and found collapsed on the street. They thought he was nothing but a deserter mage and had not even considered that he could be the man who had once been the Archmage General. With his long hair, unkempt beard, and dirty clothing, he was unrecognisable. At least Caleb’s real name was largely unknown and his new one garnered no suspicion. No one looked twice at a wizard name Caleb; he had only been known to those outside the King’s Court as the Firestorm. Now he was nothing but embers, floating on the wind.

How the mighty had fallen. What would Lieutenant Pike think of him now, the once indomitable Archmage General, brought low by illness and misery? 

He clenched his fists and was reminded of the chains they’d fixed around his wrists, ones that bound his powers. Unwittingly, they’d prevented him from escaping and unleashing his fury on the town. That could only be a good thing. In his fever dream, the destruction he could have caused would have been abominable. He might have razed Stuugant to the ground.

“I’m pathetic,” he said. “Garbage. A garbage person.”

The cell had nothing but silence in answer.

* * *

“Psst. Psst.”

The world was spinning. Caleb’s eyes ached, his mind throbbing as he tried to focus.

“Oi, humey.”

Someone was trying to get his attention. Speaking in Common. He’d not heard that language in days. A green blur danced before his vision.

“Oi!”

“Are you a tree?” he asked, trying to blink himself into consciousness. It was a stupid question. Trees couldn’t speak. Could they?

“Well, excuse me!” the tree exclaimed. “Out of the two of us, you’re much more likely to be a tree. You’re so tall, and, and, you haven’t moved in days, like you’ve planted yourself! Trees don’t move, you know.”

“Right,” Caleb said. He didn’t feel tall.

The tree huffed. “You know what? You’re probably dumb enough not to care if I eat your portion. Fucking humeys.”

The tree was right. Caleb didn’t care. He closed his eyes, world-weary and ready to sleep.

“Am I tree? What kind of stupid question is that?” the tree continued to mutter. “Perhaps a bush. A sharp, delicate bush. A rose bush! What do you think, Mr Tree?”

“I think… you should be quiet…” Caleb rasped, struggling to use a language he’d barely mastered. Everything hurt.

“You’re green too, you know. Purple, black, blue—I didn’t know humeys could turn those shades. Aren’t you supposed to be pink?” 

“I’m bruised. The guards… they are not so happy with me.”

“Oh.” There was a moment of blissful silence. Caleb thought that his new cellmate might even stay quiet. But no, he could only be so lucky. “Why aren’t they happy with you?”

“Because… they think I am a run-away mage…”

“Are you?”

Caleb chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. The chains on his wrists clinked. “They put me in these for a reason.” He forced himself to open his eyes and properly awaken. A small, green face with glowing yellow eyes appeared in his vision, close enough that their heads bumped together when he startled. 

_ “ _ _ Scheiße! _ _ ” _

“Stupid humey!”

As Caleb glared at the goblin girl, she narrowed her eyes in return.

“For your information, my name is Nott. Now that you’re awake, you’re going to help me plan our escape. I’m very good at escaping things, you know.”

“Are you?” Caleb said. Then, “Am I?”

Nott smiled, baring a mouth overfilled with sharp, pointy teeth.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “A wizard’s just what I need.”

* * *

Travelling with Nott was like travelling with an excitable, alcoholic four-year-old with worse impulse control than a cat on crack. Every day she put a smile on Caleb’s face and he followed her despite her frivolous antics, despite that she got them into trouble, despite her penchant for pickpocketing anyone unfortunate enough to cross their paths.

He worked his way through a spell-book, learning magic he’d never been taught when he’d been trained as a Zemnian Battlemage. It seemed counter-intuitive that Caleb could cast a spell to stop time, but he couldn’t Detect Magic in his surroundings. Nott often pestered him about it.

“Caleb, if you’re so powerful, why are you learning to cast a simple Firebolt?”

“Caleb, if you can create Guards and Wards, what’s the point of an Alarm?”

“Caleb, if you can cause death with just a single Word, what does Magic Missile do?”

When they’d escaped the Zemnian prison, she’d seen him use his power to do horrible, fearsome things. Perhaps it had been necessary for his survival, but even so, he struggled to justify himself. It had left him shaken and disturbed. 

Caleb was immensely powerful, but it seemed that his power could only be used to cause pain and horror. He’d been forced to do that for the Empire. He didn’t want to be that person, the Firestorm, anymore. He wanted to be a wizard that built mountains, not destroyed them. One night, while Nott slept, curled up like a puppy and just as adorable, he promised himself the only time he would use his power would be to protect her. She had saved him from Death’s door and he could not imagine life without her.

* * *

A cacophony of cheers and hisses echoed around Zadash’s Victory Pit as Molly took a hit and Caleb backed away from the Hill Giant that was decimating his friends, these kind, wonderful, strange people who’d taken in a dirty wizard and vicious goblin girl and hardly cared about their pasts. The itching temptation to call down lightning or rot the giant from the inside out had never been stronger. Surely defending his friends was a good use of his power?

Grimacing, Caleb shook his head. He would try something else first and reveal himself only if the circumstances were beyond dire. He did not want to be recognised by the Empire. A filthy, pathetic mage with long, straggly hair and rags for robes was a far sight from clean-shaven Archmage Ermendrud of the Royal Zemnian Army. But do enough powerful magic and it would draw attention no matter what he looked like.

Forcing himself to look away from Yasha and Molly sprawled unconscious on the ground, bleeding out, Caleb withdrew a pinch of fine sand and sprinkled it before him. _ Sleep _. It was a long shot, as it didn’t always work on creatures that were bigger and more dangerous than the average.

The giant yawned and staggered. Caleb blinked in surprise. 

“Woah!” Fjord’s gaze snapped from Caleb to the giant as it fell to its knees and then collapsed.

“That wasn’t even supposed to work!” Caleb said, backing away. He scanned the crowd, but no one seemed more surprised than was normal. 

“I told you that he’s powerful!” Nott declared to no one in particular.

Jester immediately dashed over to Yasha and Molly and began to heal them, while Beau hovered, fussing.

“We have a whole minute before he wakes up. We need to get into a circle around him and decide what we are going to do,” Caleb said. He stayed at a distance; he’d be able to do more damage at less risk to himself, there.

Yasha groaned as she awoke and immediately began conspiring with Beau. As the others moved out of the giant’s reach, they got close, flanking his head. Beau launched her attack, swiping down with her quarterstaff and punching his eye. It roared its displeasure and Caleb swallowed, wondering if perhaps he should have struck it down dead.

“Die!” Nott cried, a crossbow bolt cutting into the giant’s belly. The giant choked then gurgled as it attempted to get to its feet, blood pouring from the wound, then collapsed again as its innards spilled from the gash to the ground.

She’d killed it. She’d only gone and killed it! 

“Yes,” Caleb crowed. 

“Did we win yet?” Nott asked, turning to grin at him with glee in her eyes.

The Victory Pit answered, the crowd cheering with wild abandon. Caleb smiled back at Nott, immeasurably proud. That had felt better than taking down any opposing army or commanding a platoon of men. Travelling with the Mighty Nein had been the best thing to happen to him in a very long while.


	2. Chapter 2

Either Keg was a traitor or her information was bad: instead of the five Iron Shepherds that Keg had described, there were seven, and even at a distance Caleb could tell that Lorenzo, their leader, was not just a fighter, but someone well versed in the arcane. Magic oozed from his body and seemed to swirl in the air above him.

This was a battle they would struggle to win… unless he did something. Revealed himself. But if he did so, his companions would know that he was not the meek and mild-mannered wizard he’d pretended to be. They would know he had hidden his power. What if they decided they couldn’t trust him? He could lose their friendship forever.

Would it be so bad? Nott already knew a little about the depths of his power. She knew it frightened and sickened him. She hadn’t betrayed or manipulated him. Instead, she had helped him hide.

If Caleb did nothing, then he would lose them for certain. He thought about fleeing, taking Nott and running for the hills. But the Mighty Nein had somehow snuck their way under his shields and into his soft, pathetic core. He couldn’t leave them to die. He cared about them too much.

The caravan trundled forward, seemingly unaware of the trap that was about to spring.

_ “ _ _ Scheiße!”  _ he cursed under his breath. He stepped forward, blocking the caravan’s route and it slowed to a halt. Immediately, a message from Nott sounded in his mind. _ Caleb, what are you doing? Get out of there! Reply to this message! _

“What’s this, then?” Lorenzo said, a grin growing on his ugly face to reveal crooked, stumped teeth, two gold incisors shining in the morning light. He paced forward, glaive in hand, to stand next to the horses.

Caleb squared his shoulders and kept his expression impassive.

“You have taken my friends. I would like you to release them.”

_ Caleb! _ Nott’s message was an incoherent screech that Caleb ignored.

“Oh ho! We’ve got us a feisty one, here!” Lorenzo said. He laughed, an insidious, crawling sound. The rest of the Shepherds joined in.

Caleb didn’t reply. Lorenzo had never seemed more deadly and Caleb was confident that he’d made the right choice in confronting them. None of his friends were going to die today.

There was a shimmer of mist next to him and Molly appeared out of thin air, a furious expression upon his face. “What are you doing?” he hissed under his breath. 

Caleb cast Message and inclined his head to one side. “I have this under control.” 

Molly didn’t appear reassured, but Nott’s reply was instant and endearing. _ If you say so. I’ve always got your back, Caleb. Give them hell! You can reply to this message. _

“And another,” Lorenzo said. His eyes narrowed and he glanced toward the hill where Keg was hiding. “Well, well, this is quite the ambush.”

“Our friends,” Caleb said, as Molly was opening his mouth to no doubt give a smart retort. “You will return them to us.”

Lorenzo’s expression twisted into an ugly sneer and he shifted his weight, bringing his glaive before him.

“Don’t presume to give me orders. Move, or die.”

Caleb closed his eyes and reached within himself for the man who’d been the ruthless, fierce, and self-assured Archmage General. He was there; he always had been, lurking in the dark. The memories threatened to drown him for a moment but he stood firm and let them wash over him like water over a rock. He felt as confident as he would be if he were dressed in fine livery, a cloak over his shoulders, an army behind him at his beck and call. Caleb opened his eyes and met Lorenzo’s steely gaze. A frown creased Lorenzo’s brow at whatever he saw there.

“You are the one that will die,” Caleb said. He clapped his hands together and hissed a Word of Power. The air grew thick with magic as a bolt of scarlet energy lanced toward Lorenzo. Unable to dodge, unable to resist, Lorenzo died with a startled look on his face and keeled over to land face-first into the ground.

“Well, fuck me,” Molly muttered beside him.

Caleb strode forward, his heart beating in time with each step, making his eyes glow as if lit from within. The ground began to tremble and he readied a Firebolt in each hand, cupping flickering balls of flame. Layering his voice with Thaumaturgy, he spoke:

“YOU HAVE SEEN MY POWER... SURRENDER OR DIE.”

The half-orc druid, who Keg had claimed was close to Lorenzo, wailed and cast Dispel Magic. The rest of the Iron Shepherds just stared at him with wide eyes. The magic washed over Caleb and dispelled the Thaumaturgy and the Firebolts, but he took the opportunity to reach into his components pouch and withdraw a bit of fur, which he wrapped around a piece of amber and three silver pins as he muttered a few arcane words.

A bolt of lightning arced from his outstretched hands and into the druid. She screamed and three more bolts of lightning speared out from her burning body, striking the human barbarian, the halfling rogue, and the half-elf bard. The rogue managed to dodge some of the blast, but the barbarian and the bard died along with the druid, screaming as their blood boiled and bones charred.

Molly whistled. “You’ve been holding out on us,” he remarked. He darted forward, disappearing mid-step and reappearing above the rogue, striking down with Summer’s Dance.

“Take this, you slaver scum!” Beau cried, launching herself from her hiding spot. She was a blur of movement as she took down one of the two remaining half-elf guards. 

Caleb strode toward the last of the carts, where the other guard was backing away.

“It was just a job!” he stuttered. “It was just a job!”

“You better run,” Caleb said. “You better run as far and as fast as you can. If I ever see you again, I won’t hesitate to kill you slowly and painfully. That creature behind me with teeth like needles? She’s a goblin that’s partial to the taste of human flesh. I’ll let her eat you alive.”

The guard whimpered and dropped his crossbow, turning tail and sprinting away. Once he was gone, Caleb sighed, his shoulders sagging. He turned back to see if the others needed his help finishing up the fight. They did not.

Beau leaned against a tree trunk, arms crossed, tapping her foot as she watched him. She arched a brow when he met her stare. Caleb winced and dragged his eyes away. Keg was sitting on a boulder, staring at the wreckage.

“You little… little fiend!” Molly whined. He gestured with his sword at Nott. “That was my kill. You all saw that, didn’t you?”

The rogue Molly had been battling was dead, a crossbow bolt in his throat. Nott stood over the rogue, grinning at Caleb with bright eyes. 

“Didn’t I always say that you were powerful?” she exclaimed. “I said it, didn’t I?”

Caleb felt wearier than he had in weeks. His very bones ached. The mantle of the Archmage General was slipping from his shoulders. 

“You did,” he agreed. “So, have we found our friends?”

Nott darted onto the carts and began rummaging through them. After a moment, she disappeared entirely from sight. 

“Nott?” Caleb hurried forward. Nott reappeared, sticking her head out of some kind of invisible structure. 

“I’ve found… something! People… in cages. Come up here!”

Caleb narrowed his eyes and extended a hand, feeling for whatever arcane energy might be cloaking the carts. He muttered a few arcane words and a surge of magic flashed and dispelled.

“Woah!”

Several cages appeared in their vision, stacked on top of each other. All manner of creatures were bound and imprisoned, three to a cage.

“Well, isn’t this delightful,” Molly remarked. “Anything else you’d like to do, Caleb? Call lightning down from the heavens? Oh, wait, you already did that one, didn’t you?”

Caleb took a breath to steady himself and ignore Molly’s snide remarks. “Nott, if you can not get any of these locks open, I will be able to do so.”

“Okay!”

While Nott scurried around the cages, working with her lockpicks, Caleb staggered over to the fallen tree trunk and took a seat. His hands were shaking. He hadn’t realised that his hands were shaking. The morning air suddenly seemed colder than ice. He was choking on it, his heart pounding in his chest. His vision seemed to darken, like the world was clouding over. He flexed his hands and tried desperately not to think of the creatures he’d just killed.

“Hey. So. You alright?”

It was Beauregard. It seemed lately that it was  _ always _ Beauregard.

“No. I am not,” Caleb gasped. “I am very not alright.”

“I’m gonna, err, touch you, now,” she said. “Not in a weird way. Just in a friends way, you know?”

A warm arm snaked around his waist as another body pressed close, sitting on the trunk beside him. Caleb counted his breathing until it was no longer ragged. Bit by bit, moment by moment, he came back to himself, until he was able to reach out and hug Beau back.

“There ya go,” she said.

“You’re pretty good at this,” he found himself saying. “You’re a good friend, Beauregard. I’m glad that I have a friend like you.”

“Yeah. Uh, me too.”

A screech interrupted their moment, which was probably for the best. Caleb glanced aside and untangled himself from Beau, while she did the same, clearing her throat.

“What?” she said, low and gruff. “What is it, Nott?”

“I found them!”

Beau darted toward the carts in a flash of movement, while Caleb scrambled to his feet. 

“I think we’ll need magic for this one, Caleb, my picks aren’t working.”

Three of the cages had been opened and nine creatures freed. They were sobbing and laughing, hugging each other, some of them wary, some of them carefree. It was easy to tell that some had been imprisoned longer than others; Caleb recognised the desperate hope in their eyes warring with disbelief. Molly was busy entertaining them with tales of their rescue, juggling a pair of daggers and winking with each flirtatious comment he made. 

“Over here!” 

Caleb followed the sound of Nott’s voice to the last cage. Lying in a bundle were Jester, Fjord, and Yasha, squirming in their bonds. The lock on their cage had been jammed by Nott’s tools.

“Not my fault!” Nott cried, worrying at it frantically.

“Shush,” Caleb murmured. “Here, let me.”

He placed his hands on the cage and whispered the arcane words to open a lock. A brilliant knock rang out about the clearing, drawing attention before the newly freed slaves turned back to Molly. The cage door clicked open and Nott darted in. Her dagger flashed and Jester’s gag fell to the floor. 

“You found us!” she squealed, beaming despite her manacles. 

“Of course I did! I’m a great detective!” Nott proclaimed. She worked at the manacles and they soon fell to the floor with a clank. Repeating the action on Fjord and Yasha, their friends were finally free.

* * *

Setting up camp the evening after they’d freed the slaves and killed the Iron Shepherds was a joyful reunion. Although the three captured hadn’t been gone long, Caleb knew he wasn’t the only one that had dearly missed them.

“I thought we were goners for good,” Fjord admitted.

“I always knew you would come for us!” Jester was pouring over her notebook, drawing pictures of her adventures for the Traveller. Caleb hid a grin behind his hand when Nott appeared over her shoulder and began critiquing her drawing of Lorenzo with an arse for a head.

“This is all well and good,” Molly interrupted, “but are we going to talk about the fact that Caleb can call down  _ lightning _ ?

“I always said he was powerful!” Nott said, abandoning Jester and darting to his side, waving her knife. “I told you and none of you believed me! It’s not Caleb’s fault that he’s modest.”

Caleb placed a gentle arm around Nott’s shoulders and urged her to sit. Next to Molly, Beauregard caught his eye and mimed bashing Molly’s head in. He bit back a snort and shook his head.

“It’s true… I have hidden my true power to some extent. You know me. You know that I do not like to draw attention.  _ Ja _ , perhaps I should have told you. But you know now.”

“Hidden your true power!” Molly spluttered. “Caleb, darling, that’s an understatement if I’ve heard one. You killed a man with a single word. I can’t say I know of a single wizard in the Cerberus Assembly that would be able to do that. You used a Word of Power. That’s crazy powerful wizard magic.”

“A Word of Power! Ooh, Caleb, that’s so exciting,” Jester crooned. She looked delighted and unbothered by this revelation, but Caleb knew she was well-versed in hiding her true feelings. He took a breath and spread his hands before him, palms to the sky.

“It was more important to me that I saved your lives than hide my power. Can that not be enough? I have come to care about you all. Even though you are all weird and dangerous, you are my weird and dangerous friends. I do not want harm to come to you. But if you want me to leave you, I will.” He looked down at his lap. “I know that I am a garbage person and I should not keep secrets. But I was only trying to look out for myself and for Nott.”

“And Nott? You’ve known about this all along?” Fjord said, speaking for the first time.

Nott nodded, baring her teeth. 

“I kinda knew,” Beau added. 

“Well then, that’s good enough for me. We all have secrets, Caleb. You gave yours up to help us and I can’t express my gratitude enough.”

“Yes, thank you, Caleb,” Yasha said.

“You know,” Jester said, drawing out the vowel, as was her tendency. Her eyes were sparkling as she looked at Caleb. “There is one wizard I can think of who could use a Word of Power. He’s very famous in the Menagerie Coast.”

Caleb swallowed and bowed his head. If Jester knew and wished to expose him, there was nothing he could do.

“Well go on then, tell us!”

Molly’s insistence might very well have been his doom. Caleb looked up to catch the wicked grin that crossed Jester’s face as she shook her head. 

“Not telling! Nope! You’ll have to figure it out!” She burst into peals of laughter as the rest of their friends began complaining, alternating between threats and bribes as they tried to extort the name from her. The atmosphere of the camp lightened and Caleb breathed a sigh of relief. 

He had saved them and they hadn’t hated him for it. For the first time, he felt he could see a way out of the darkness that had been drowning him ever since he’d fled his home.

A tiny green hand slipped into one of his own and laced their fingers together. 

“You know, I don’t care who you are or who you were. To me, you’re just Caleb,” Nott said, gazing up at him with earnest eyes.

Caleb looked down at her and couldn’t hold back his smile. “I know. You are very dear to me as well.” 

“As long as we’ve got that sorted,” Nott said and nodded. Then she scrambled off to join the wrestling match the argument had dissolved into, hopping onto Yasha’s back and directing her movement with hoarse declarations of battle.

* * *

The early morning chill was freshest when on the last watch. Caleb curled into his coat and tried not to shiver, looking out to the distant silhouette of Hupperdook, their next stop on their journey back to Zadash.

“Don’t you know any spells to offset the cold?” Fjord murmured, his fellow watch partner. 

_ “Nein, _ not yet,” Caleb admitted. “Most of my better spells are… offensive.”

“Mhmm.”

“But I will,” Caleb hastened to say. “I have found one that suits our needs perfectly. A ten-foot radius impenetrable dome. I just need to get the component and I will be able to cast that for us from now on. I found it in the half-elf’s spellbook, but I should be able to adapt it.”

“Any other spells in there? Because that sounds mighty useful.”

“Uh, so far they are spells I am already aware of. But I am only halfway through it.”

Fjord nodded but didn’t respond. Caleb chewed anxiously on his lip. If Fjord decided he no longer wanted Caleb as part of the Nein, the others would side with him. Nott would leave with Caleb, of course, but she’d be devastated. 

“You know, I was too young to be part of the war effort against the Empire, but I sailed with those that did fight,” Fjord said. “Late at night the grizzled veterans would show the younger sailors their scars and reminisce, inventing more and more ludicrous stories of the great battles they’d been in. It’s funny… we were winning… until we weren’t. A battlemage of impossible power began devastating our ranks. He appeared around the same time that the Empire absorbed the Zemni Fields. The Firestorm, they called him. The Archmage General Ermendrud. Because of him, the Menagerie Coast and the Empire came to a tentative peace, perhaps about fifteen years ago, neither strong enough to defeat the other.

My favourite tales were always about the Firestorm. Without him, there’s no doubt I’d be fighting against the Empire right now. The yarns these men would spin… One bloke I knew claimed that he was the living incarnation of a volcano. Another claimed he was a star, trapped in human form. I loved the mystery of it all.”

Caleb swallowed, freeing his hands from where they’d been tucked under his armpits for warmth and turning to face Fjord. Fjord was looking away, gazing into the faint brightening of the sky in the East.

“I always wondered where the Firestorm went, once the war was over. He’d killed hundreds of soldiers, but stopped the war in its tracks. Ought I thank him? Ought I hate him? I never really thought I’d meet him.”

“And now?” Caleb said. His hands were shaking.

“And now, I suppose I never really considered why he did what he did. Who is he, at the core of his being?”

“Perhaps he does not know,” Caleb offered. “Perhaps he is trying to discover that for himself.”

Finally, Fjord turned to look at him. “Maybe,” Fjord agreed. “How old are you, Caleb, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Caleb settled his gaze on Fjord’s shoulder. “Thirty-three.”

“Right,” Fjord said. “So you’d have been eighteen when the war ended. Right.”

Caleb forced himself to meet Fjord’s piercing yellow eyes. “Old enough to know better,” he whispered.

“I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know your story,” Fjord said, his mouth curving into a kind smile. “But one day, I’d like to hear it, if you’ll trust me with it.”

It seemed impossible to trust anyone. Not even Nott knew the full truth of it.

“One day,” Caleb echoed, trying to convince himself. “ _ Ja _ , one day.”

Perhaps, one day, when he knew them a little better, had lived a little longer, had become a little braver… he would.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you enjoyed this! I'm new to the fandom and am wild about Liam O'Brien and his amazing characters. I hope I did Caleb justice.
> 
> If you were going to ship Caleb, who would you ship him with, and why?


End file.
